


(Not-So) Fresh Start

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: Ladies Bingo 2020 [23]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archaeologist Braeden, Canon-Typical Violence, Exes, F/F, Mild Gore, Minor Injuries, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: The clock has just ticked past midnight, and Melissa is standing in the breakroom making a murky cup of coffee when she hears screams drifting from somewhere nearby. The sound itself isn’t entirely out of place, but the fact that there’s more than one person screaming is what makes Melissa pause, holding her foam cup in one hand and a sugar packet in the other.Suddenly, even above the clamor of the screams, she hears a sharpcrack, and it’s that sound that makes her sigh and set her cup down on the small counter next to the machine.Regardless of whether the source of the screams is supernatural or not, Melissa already knows that there’s no chance that the rest of her shift is going to resemble anything even close to peace.
Relationships: Braeden/Melissa McCall
Series: Ladies Bingo 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956031
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Ladies Bingo 2020





	(Not-So) Fresh Start

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 'Could it be Ritual? Archaeologists and their Theories' square on my [Ladies Bingo 2020](https://ladiesbingo.dreamwidth.org/) bingo card!

It starts off as a fairly normal night (or, as normal as can be expected in Beacon Hills). 

Melissa starts her shift just before seven o’clock and, for the next five hours, she can almost pretend that she doesn’t live in a town that is regularly swarmed by supernatural beings. Not a single person comes walking through the door with a werewolf bite. She doesn’t have to treat a patient who has been paralyzed by kanima venom. She doesn’t have to frantically think up excuses to explain why one of her son’s friends is in excruciating pain without revealing that they’re not fully human. 

Frankly, even though she still feels run off her feet, even though she’s kept more than busy by a young girl with a broken collarbone, an older man who is brought in by ambulance with vicious food poisoning, and a never ending stream of paperwork to work on whenever she has a free moment, the first part of her night is almost _peaceful_. 

Unfortunately, the peace doesn’t last. 

The clock has just ticked past midnight, and she’s standing in the breakroom making a murky cup of coffee when she hears screams drifting from somewhere nearby. The sound itself isn’t entirely out of place, but the fact that there’s more than one person screaming is what makes Melissa pause, holding her foam cup in one hand and a sugar packet in the other. 

Suddenly, even above the clamor of the screams, she hears a sharp _crack_ , and it’s that sound that makes her sigh and set her cup down on the small counter next to the machine. 

Regardless of whether the source of the screams is supernatural or not, Melissa already knows that there’s no chance that the rest of her shift is going to resemble anything even close to peace. 

As she heads towards the door of the breakroom, one of their newest student nurses, who has only been on the job for a month, turns towards Melissa with wide eyes and asks, “What is that?” 

Part of Melissa wants to gently take the girl by the shoulders and tell her to find another hospital, _any_ other hospital, one where screams mean only grief and pain and not a potential town-wide disaster, where the cracking of a whip is a sign of a wayward dominatrix and _not_ a wayward ex-girlfriend. But explaining that would take too long and would probably end up leading to some awkward questions that she doesn’t feel like answering. 

Instead, she allows herself a moment to sigh deeply. 

“Trouble,” she answers, before she twists open the doorknob and steps outside. 

The screams have grown in both number and volume, and now that she’s in the hallway, which is filled with both patients and staff running away, glancing back over their shoulders as they go, she can definitively tell that the screams are coming from the entrance to the emergency room. Another crack splits the air like a thunderclap, echoing off the walls, and even though Melissa has heard that sound more times than she can count, it still makes her heart jump in her chest. It also makes her realize that she is striding into an unknown, dangerous situation without anything more than her bare hands, and even though every second she wastes could be a second where someone gets hurt, she’s not going to be able to help _anyone_ if she can’t even put up a token defense. Quickly, she ducks into the nearest supply room, grabs a fistful of disposable needles wrapped in plastic, and shoves them into the front pocket of her scrub top. As she heads back out into the swamped hallway, she starts peeling at the plastic of one of the needles so that, should the time come where she needs to jam it into something’s eye, it’ll be ready. 

As she nears the T-junction at the end of the hallway, with one arm leading to the operating rooms and the other leading to the lobby, another crack fills the air. This time, it’s followed by a shriek of pain that is too high-pitched and grating, like the whine of a buzzsaw, to belong to a human. She itches to slam her hands over her ears, but she needs all of her senses, can’t afford to dull one when it could be the only thing that saves her life. Slowing her steps, she stops at the end of the hallway and leans around the corner, hoping that she’ll be able to assess the situation for at least a few seconds before she dives in. 

At first, the only thing she sees is a clump of terrified patients backed into a corner, clutching each other for support, faces ashen with fear, shadows flickering over their faces as something out of Melissa’s line of sight moves. But then, before she can take a single step, there’s another crack, and Braeden steps into her line of sight. 

Braeden, the ex-girlfriend who slipped out in the middle of the night with no more than a note left on the kitchen table that said _I’m sorry, I have to take care of something, I love you_ , looks like she has had a rough night. Her black leather jacket (which Melissa isn’t surprised to see – some things never change) is dotted with rips and tears and splashes of a dark liquid. There’s a cut on her cheekbone that is weeping blood down her face, her hair is in disarray, and she’s heavily favoring her left leg. Her bull whip, the source of the cracks that are still ringing in Melissa’s ears, is dragging along the ground beside her, leaving a thin trail of black gunk behind on the tiles. As Melissa watches, Braeden adjusts her grip on the whip and, gritting her teeth, lashes out. The crack is muffled this time, and based on the way Braeden’s mouth ticks up into a feral grin and the air fills with that buzzsaw shriek again, she’s hit her target. 

But what _is_ her target? 

As Braeden moves out of sight again, presumably trying to back her quarry into a corner, Melissa makes her move. Trying to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible, she races down the short hallway into the lobby, moving towards the huddled group of patients. She spares a quick glance to her left, just to make sure she’s not going to get in the way. Thankfully, Braeden is on the other side of the room, grappling hand to hand with _whatever_ she’s fighting. In her split second look, all Melissa is able to process is a vaguely humanoid figure with crimson skin. Whatever it is, it’s not familiar to her, but she can’t let her curiosity get the best of her, not when there are patients to evacuate. 

“Come on,” she says, putting herself between the rest of the room and the patients. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle with danger as she hears Braeden grunt in pain, but she refuses to turn around. Instead, she waves a hand towards the hall that she just came out of. “Go, that way. Find a room and hide. Go!” 

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to push any harder. The cluster of patients move as one, scurry down the hall supporting each other, and disappear around the corner. Once they’re safely out of sight, Melissa turns around, pulling a needle from the pocket of her scrubs as she does so. 

The fight, however, appears to be over. The creature that Braeden was battling is on the floor with what looks like oil leaking from a dozen places on its body. Now that Braeden is no longer standing directly in front of it, Melissa can make out that it doesn’t seem to have anything more than the suggestion of a face. There are slight dimples that could be rudimentary eyes, and a shallow slash that could be a mouth, but it looks more like an abstract painting than an attempt at replicating a human being. Its body, in addition to the various wounds Braeden inflicted upon it, is littered with cracks, like pottery that has been shattered and inexpertly stitched back together. 

Now that she’s gotten a good look at the creature, she can truly confirm that she has never seen _anything_ like it. 

Slowly, Braeden turns around, panting heavily, and shoves her hair away from her face. There’s blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, and despite the way they left things, despite the anger and grief that has been simmering in Melissa since Braeden disappeared, she still wants to cross the room between them and clean up that wound. 

However, before she can make any kind of move, before she can decide to stay or go or ask _what is happening right now_ , Braeden’s eyes widen, and she raises her whip. 

“Duck, Melissa!” 

Melissa immediately drops to the ground, landing in a patch of the ichor (or whatever the hell it is) that spilled out of the creature. As it soaks into the front of her scrubs, the air above her head explodes with sound, and it’s only the needle still clutched into her hand that keeps her from slamming her palms over her ears. Seconds later, something hits the ground beside her with a heavy _thud_ , and when she turns to look, she finds herself staring directly into the rudimentary face of another creature, attached to a head that has been neatly severed from its shoulders by Braeden’s whip. A gush of thick, black liquid leaks from the stump of its neck, but Melissa can’t see any bones jutting from the stump. It looks like it’s purely tissue, almost as if the creature was carved out of dough, stuffed full of ichor, and brought to life. 

Slowly, Melissa lifts her head and looks over at where Braeden is standing with her legs slightly apart, the whip dangling at her side. She looks completely exhausted, but the grin that she flashes in Melissa’s direction is still a proud one. 

“I’ve gotten pretty good with this thing, right?” With a slight laugh, she starts limping her way across the room, her right foot dragging heavily behind her. Once she’s closer, she stretches her hand out towards Melissa, but since it looks like she might collapse if Melissa accepts the help, she gets up on her own, wiping off her hand on the leg of her scrubs and wincing as her soaked top sticks to her skin. 

The answer to Braeden’s question is yes – while Braeden was skilled with the whip when they were dating, spent hours practicing with it in Melissa’s backyard, she wasn’t quite _decapitate something in one blow_ good. But she’s not going to take the bait. Braeden’s whip skills aren’t the issue at hand here – the issue is that after _four months_ of zero contact, not even so much as a text message or a post card, she has strolled back into Melissa’s life, into her _hospital_ , like she never left at all, bringing utter chaos with her. 

So instead, once she has both of her feet planted in a spot that is mostly free of creature blood, she points at the headless corpse and says, “What the _hell_ is that thing?” 

“Those,” Braeden replies, waving an arm at the general area, encompassing both bodies and the related fluids spewed across the floor, “are the things I had to take care of. You know, back… back then.” 

“Okay,” Melissa says slowly. “But that still doesn’t answer my question. What, exactly, are they, aside from the reason you left me?” 

It’s a bit of a low blow, and when she sees the brief wince that crosses Braeden’s face, Melissa can’t help but feel a tinge of regret. Then again, it’s all too possible that the wince is from one of her many injuries, as opposed to any kind of emotional blow. 

“I genuinely don’t know,” she replies, gently nudging the headless corpse at her feet with the toe of her combat boot. “I have a few theories, but nothing concrete yet. They popped up at a dig site Marin was working on in Arkansas, and we’ve been chasing them this whole time, trying to figure out where they came from or what they actually are, other than ugly.” 

“Well, I’d say that you found them,” Melissa says. Surprisingly, Braeden shakes her head. 

“Only two of them. There’s supposed to be four.” 

Melissa’s stomach immediately drops, and she turns to look at the sliding glass doors that lead out into the parking lot. She can’t see anything out there that doesn’t belong, but it’s a dark night, and she can only see so far. It’s all too possible that the other two creatures are out there, hiding in the gloom just beyond her line of sight, watching and waiting. While it may just be a figment of her imagination, her skin crawls at the thought of being watched by something with no eyes. 

“Where’s Marin?” she asks. Before Braeden can answer, her leg gives out beneath her, and it’s only Melissa’s quick reaction that keeps Braeden from slumping to the ground. Even then, she comes close – Melissa is strong enough, it comes with the territory, but so much of Braeden is pure muscle that her arms almost buckle underneath the unexpected weight. 

“She went to find the Argents,” Braeden says, throwing an arm around Melissa’s waist and hopping along as Melissa pulls her down the hallway to the triage room just past the lobby. “To see if they had anything in their bestiary about them, any ideas on what kind of ritual might have created them.” As soon as they are inside, Braeden drops down onto the small stool in the corner of the room, but as Melissa starts digging through the drawers in the corner of the room for alcohol swabs and thread, Braeden shakes her head and says, “No, I have to get back out there. Just give me a shot or something.” 

“I am not going to just give you a shot,” Melissa snaps, slamming a drawer shut. “If you run on that leg and mess it up even more, there might be serious damage. Damage that can’t be fixed.” Grabbing another low stool and pulling it over to herself, she sits down and peels open an alcohol swab. “And if it gives out underneath you while you’re trying to fight…” There’s no way for her to finish that sentence without sounding painfully pessimistic, so she lets the various possibilities linger in the air as she leans forward and wipes at the cut on Braeden’s cheekbone. Braeden hisses through her teeth. 

“Look,” she says quietly as Melissa works at wiping up the rest of the blood on Braeden’s face, “I’m sorry I left. I should have called you or reached out. I should have done _something_. I just… I didn’t want to bring you into this. You already deal with enough as is.” 

Tossing the swab into the nearby garbage can, Melissa has to take a moment to steady her breathing. She knows that Braeden means the apology, that she is coming from a place of honesty. But one single apology isn’t going to make up for the fact that Braeden up and walked away from their relationship after a year. One apology isn’t enough to make up for the four months that Melissa spent worrying and agonizing and healing. 

One apology isn’t going to make up for the fact that all the steps she made towards making peace with her life again have been completely unraveled by the events of the last half hour. 

“That isn’t enough,” she says simply, forcing herself to look up into Braeden’s dark eyes. “It’s not, Braeden. Especially now that I _am_ in this.” 

“I know,” Braeden replies. “But it’s a start. You don’t have to let me back in. I would understand if you didn’t. I know that we will never be back to where we were before I left. But I want to at least try. I mean it.”

Melissa shouldn’t want it. She should tell Braeden thanks, but no thanks. She should do what she can to mend Braeden’s injuries and then try to pretend that this didn’t happen. She shouldn’t encourage Braeden’s attempts to make amends. 

But she _does_ want it. As much as she has tried to convince herself otherwise, she’s missed Braeden these past four months. She’s missed coming home after a shift and finding Braeden at her kitchen table, waiting for her with breakfast. She’s missed Braeden telling her about her latest project, about the past digs and expeditions she has gone on, the artifacts and pieces that she has found and returned to their rightful owners. She’s even missed gently ribbing Braeden about her profession of choice and getting a bizarrely spot-on Harrison Ford impression in return. 

She’s missed her. That’s the plain and simple truth of it. 

But that doesn’t mean she’s willing to completely open her life up again. She’s not willing to forget the empty months where she veered between being terrified that Braeden had died somewhere and resigning herself to the fact that she’d been ghosted. 

She doesn’t want to start from the beginning again, not entirely, but she’s not willing to pick up right where they left off. They both have work to do before they get to that point. 

“You want to make it up to me?” Melissa asks. When Braeden nods, she says, “Then the first thing you can do is take your pants off. I need to look at your leg.” 

“Now _that_ is something I can do,” Braeden says, popping open the button on her black jeans. As soon as she starts wiggling them down, she curses under her breath and drops her hands to her side. “I think my leg is too swollen.” 

“Okay.” With a sigh, Melissa rummages through the drawers again until she comes up with a pair of scissors. “Hope you don’t like them too much.” 

This isn’t _exactly_ the kind of work she was planning on doing in order to get their relationship back on track but, as she starts cutting through Braeden’s jeans, revealing cuts and scrapes and angry bruises as she goes, she supposes that it’s as good a place to start as any.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
